I’ve been begging myself to write about grief, hoping it would somehow bring closure. Yet I can’t wrap my thoughts around the pain well enough to understand or explain. It’s empty, it’s vibrant, it’s breathtaking.
The emotion of grief is so consuming, it completely takes you over. And that’s not necessarily in the form of sorrow or sadness, not always. It will fill you in ways you didn’t expect.
Recognizing the love for a life lost is inexplicable. Your memories wrap their memory in an embrace, and you can almost feel them. Here. It’s calming and chilling. It will make you weak and give you unbelievable strength. It will drive you and stop you in your tracks. It completely absorbs you in every possible way. You grieve for what you’ve lost and yet you celebrate what you had.
I’m not one for letting go. Especially when it’s not on my terms. And as time wages on, the more I’m left longing for what I’ve lost.
I’m sure if I had a lot of followers, I would get a lot of backlash for what I’m going to say in this post. However, I don’t, so I’m not too worried about it.
With the breaking news of Philip Seymour Hoffman’s death (may he rest in peace), social media has been set ablaze with grieving fans posting about the “tragedy.” From what I have read, it sounds like this was the result of an overdose – please, correct me if I’m wrong.
Of course, death is a difficult thing for many to warp their heads around, especially when it comes unexpectedly. I don’t blame these people for grieving. However, I do not think that ODing constitutes the same response as an actual tragedy would. In my opinion, a tragedy marks reference to something that was out of the victim’s own control: terrorist attacks, disease, murder. But choosing to pump yourself full of too many drugs and paying the ultimate consequence for those actions? No, that’s not a tragedy.
Now, don’t think that I don’t find the news of Hoffman’s death sad. I am, after all, human – of course I do. I enjoyed his work and think it’s a shame for him to have left this world at just 46. I also wonder what led him to an early grave? There’s always a driving force behind addiction.
I’m hesitant to post this, or at least to link to it on my social media profiles. In no way am I looking to spark a controversy, this is just something I’ve often thought when hearing breaking news of celebrity deaths from over doses, reckless driving and other unhealthy decisions. Shouldn’t I feel safe to feel my thoughts on my personal blog anyway?
I no longer knew you, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t remember you.
You were born just months after my brother and your sister after me. As children, we’d mimic the adults’ card games on the floor or run circles around the house with squirt guns. I think you were even there the afternoon Joey hopped the fence.
Then, one day, you were gone. I was too young to understand at the time, but later I knew why. I understood you’d left for a better life.
Years later I learned of your sister’s passing. I don’t recall if I mourned, but I remember thinking she was too young. It was tragic and now your story strikes me as the same.
I never knew who you’d become, just that you’d returned. Your accomplishments make me proud, but also strengthen the tragedy. You were so much more than what your parents had been. You were strong and I am proud.
Now, you’re gone and I’ll never have the chance to cross your path. I may never have learned of your success otherwise and that’s a disappointment.
With you, you’ve taken a piece of our family – a family that’s broken and dwindling. We may not have much, but blood is blood and it makes us who we are.
I may not have known you, but I’ll remember you. I hope you’ve found peace.